To Make A Thief
by Livestrong0009
Summary: Melara, a recent runaway from a humble home in Ivarstead, has been hiding her magical gifts for years. When a tragedy takes hold of her family and rips it apart, she runs away to Riften, and meets a handsome Nord named Brynjolf. When Brynjolf takes young Melara under his wing, will romance blossom? Or will Melara be forced to keep running from the danger her magic can cause?
1. A Greeting!

Hello Friends!

I am bringing 'To Make A Thief' back to life! It's been several years since I've even touched this story, but I read through it all again a few nights ago, and decied to try and breathe some new life into it! The bones of the story, and bulk of the plot will still be the same, but I'm going to spice up the personalities a bit more, and put in a few new twists!

Feel free to leave me any comments or suggestions as you read through it all again. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 1

It's day three since I ran away. I wonder what mother's doing, how she is. Terrified, I bet. Maybe she went to find the guards. Maybe they're coming after me. It doesn't matter. I can't let myself go there again. Not after I've run so far away, or after I've tried so hard to forget. Not after everything that I've done.

I remember father once talking to Killarna, the farmer's wife, that Riften was only a three-day walk from Ivarstead. Hopefully it won't be too much longer now. I'm getting tired of going after rabbits and goats for my dinner. I'd kill for a wheel of cheese about now, and a nice tall glass of spiced wine. Anything is better than charred goat haunches. Another hour passes, or is it two? I really can't tell. I hadn't learned how to tell time by the sun like mother and father did. I know the time by my stomach, and the way it's growling I'd say it's about midday, and time for lunch. I stop for a moment, close my eyes and listen. The wind blows gently by me, carried towards the west. There's water flowing to the east, I can hear. I feel the sun beating down on my face, warmth soothing my skin and the aching muslces beneath it. Then, the grass rustles just out of my sight and reach. I crouch immediately, and ready myself for whatever danger it is. I narrow my eyes and peer out into the tall tundra grass, spotting a pack of wolves sneaking up before me. They are ready to strike. There are four of them.

They spring from the bushes and encircle my position, expertly surrounding me. I draw my hands up, calling forth warmth from the sun into my body. Fire crackles into my hands and I blast back the first of the four wolves, sending it flying a few yards away. The smell of burnt fur and the sound of sizzling flesh fills the air, making me nearly sick. The second snaps at me, growling from behind. I whip my body around, calling down lightning from the sky and sending a shockwave through its body, stunning it long enough for me to pull the knife from my robe and send it right into the wolf's heart. It whines once, twice, then its eyes roll back and it stills. The third lunges at me swiftly, knocking me onto my back. I pull my hands up and hold it by the throat, handfuls of dirty fur clutched in my fists. It snaps at me, barking and growling in my face, spittle splashing onto my skin. I wrap my hands around its muzzle, squeezing with all the might I can muster until I hear a crack. I've broken its jaw, I think. I call on the power of the sun once again, and fire erupts from my hands, charring the wolf before me. He falls limp as I stand, my hands crackling with Destruction magic. The fourth wolf looks at me, then at his fallen companions and whimpers, taking off into the distance.

I skin my kills sloppily and pack their hides into my knapsack. Perhaps I'll be able to sell them in Riften. As I look upon their corpses, my skin crawls. That so much death could result from my abilities absolutely disgusts me. How in the world did I fall so far? In only two days, I've become some kind of monster. I'd always kept my magic a secret. The only ones who knew were mother and father, and they kept it secret as well. They were ashamed of it, and taught me to be ashamed of it as well. It isn't a gift, it's a burden - a burden upon them, upon myself, and upon the veyr people of Skyrim. All Nords look down upon magic-users. We aren't to be trusted. But now that I've left home, I have no chance of survival without utilizing my power. I have no other choice.

* * *

As the day goes on, I continue my journey. There are no other mishaps, confrontations, or killings as I make my way to the gates of Riften. Outside the city, the Riften stables are bustling with noise and whinnying from the horses within. I nod politely to the stable master and he smiles in return. I duck my face into my hood, avoiding eye contact with any more people. I'm unpredictable in uncomfortable situations, I've discovered, and it's better to be safe than sorry. As I near the gates, one of the guards stops me.

"Hold, mage. If you want to enter the city, you'll have to pay the visitor's fee." He's got a thick Nord accent.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "What's the fee for?"

"For entering the city and exploring its wonders. If you can't pay, you can't enter."

I shake my head at him. "This is obviously a scam. I'm not paying anything to enter a city," I spit, pushing past him.

He reaches out and grasps my hand, stopping me. "I said if you can't pay, you can't enter, witch." His voice has grown darker, more threatening.

I turn to him with an angry glare. "This is obviously a shakedown. You know what I am." My hands erupt with flames again and I bring them close to the guard's body, threatening him. "Do you honestly wish to do this? Here? Now?"

The guard eyes me evenly, his gaze flickering from my own down to my flaming hands. He hesitates, then pushes me away. "Fine. You're free to pass."

Without another word, I diminish the flames and pull my hood around my face, pushing past the gate and into the city.

At first glance, the city is disappointing. I was hoping for hustle and bustle, a lot of people and shopkeepers lining the streets, a crowd to get lost in, faces to blend into. But this…this is nothing like I expected. It's a steely grey color, and there's a thick stench of despair in the air. Nobody is on the streets. There are a few guards speckled around the buildings, but I see no villagers. I wander deeper in, careful to keep my face away from any unwelcome gazes.

As I pass a building on the left, someone catches my arm and draws me back. I lift my gaze to his face and hold back a gasp. He's a terrifying, large, burly Nord, equipped with well-polished armor and a battle-axe that is the full length of his body. Long black hair lies matted over his forehead and shoulders. He grunts at me, spits off to the side, and licks his lips to speak.

"You got business here, stranger?" His voice is deep and foreboding.

I swallow back my fear, and try to sound menacing. "M-My business is my own."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You got any idea where you are? Everyone's business is Maven Black-Briar's business. And Maven Black-Briar's business is my business." He leans in a bit closer, eyes narrowing. "So, I'll ask you again. You got business here, _stranger_?"

I swallow again. Gods above, he sounds like he's going to rip my throat out. I stand a little taller, crossing my arms over my chest. "A-And who is Maven Black-Briar?"

He smirks menacingly at me, leaning back and crossing his own arms. "She's one of the richest women in all of Skyrim, and you'd do well to remember it. She controls the trade flow in Riften. She controls the citizens. She controls one of the best meaderies in all of Tamriel. If the guards wanna arrest someone, they check with her first. And the Thieves Guild has got her back." He points a meaty finger at me. "So you had better watch _your_ back."

I tilt my head to one side. "The Thieves Guild?" I've never heard of such a thing.

"Aye," he says, spitting off to the side again. "They used to be the best guild of thieves in the land. But things went south for 'em a few years back, and now they aren't much more than a rag-tag team of fools who'll do anything for a few septims out of your pocket. But Maven wants 'em protected, so watch yourself." He smiles then, leaning back against the wooden post he was on before. "I wouldn't wanna be messing with a woman who's willing and able to burn off my face," he says, winking slyly at me.

I pull my hood up around my face and look around, making sure nobody heard him. "I'll be careful."

He nods at me, allowing me to move along. I rush past him, eager to get away. Is my magic that obvious? Do I carry a damned scent? My robes aren't college robes - my mother sewed them herself. How is it that every stranger I come to pass immediately knows what I am? I can feel my cheeks redden and warm with anger, but I will myself to think of something else. I continue deeper into the heart of the city and find the inn. Hurryin inside, I welcome the warm scent of mead and the soft glow of the torchlight.

It's a nice place. Cozy. There are more people here than I thought, which is a welcome change. I look around for a vacant table and can hardly see past all the people in here. There's a big sign overhead with 'The Bee and Barb' splattered across it. I guess that's the name of the inn. Appears to be run by a couple of Argonians; a female is up at the front, cleaning out mugs and the male is hobbling around, getting people's orders for drink and food. I check my coin purse. I've got…137 septims. That should be a good amount for a room for the night and a decent meal.

I approach the female Argonian and get a room key for ten septims. It's reassuring to know that most inkeepers around Skyrim share the same room price. I wander around and find a secluded table away from the rest of the crowd, and take a seat. I pull my hood down and allow myself to relax for a moment. I ask the male Argonian for some food and he brings me a horker loaf and a mug of mead for five septims. When my belly is full and I have a place to stay for the night, I don't much care for the costs. I lean back into my seat and close my eyes, allowing myself to drift into the mind-numbing conversations of others.

* * *

I sit like that for a while. Twenty minutes? A half hour maybe, I'm not sure. I snap back into reality when I hear the soft chuckle of a man beside me, standing by the fireplace. He's leaning leisurely on the stone, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. He's dressed in very fine clothes, but that's about the only fine thing about him. He looks dirty, speckles of Skyrim soil stuck to his face and skin. His hair, a dark red hue, is rather neatly combed, but dirty. I suppose it'd be too much to expect for anyone to be clean out here. His face is young, perhaps in his thirties, but his eyes could tell stories of a man twice his age. He's got a smirk on his lips that is youthful and filled with alluring humor. Wait...he's laughing at me. Looking right at me, and chuckling to himself. I look over at him and tilt my head curiously. What could he possibly have to be laughing at? He approaches my table and sits down opposite me, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"Never done an honest day's work in your life with all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?" His voice is soft, and he's got a thick accent that I can't quite pinpoint.

"Excuse me?" I whisper.

"Oh, don't be actin' coy. Everyone in here heard the hefty jingle in your purse right when you stepped in the door. But you didn't earn one septim honestly, did you? I can tell."

I look at him, sitting up straighter, trying to assert myself. "My wealth is none of your business."

He leans back in his chair and laughs at me again, a loud and boistrous noise that sits above the dull chatter in the room. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth _is_ my business." He eyes me over, then leans in closer again. "You look like you'd have quick fingers and a silver tongue. Perhaps you'd like to put 'em to use for me?"

I blink at him. My first day in Riften and I'm getting approached for work? But not just any work…Stealing? Oh Gods, what have I gotten myself into?

"Wh-What did you have in mind?" I stammer.

He looks over my shoulder for prying eyes, then leans over the table, his voice no more than a whisper. "Here's what we're goin' to do. I'm goin' to start a bit of a ruckus in the square. And while everyone is distracted and inattentive, I want you to sneak over to Madesi's stand. He's the Argonian jeweler. I want you to steal a silver ring from his lockbox, and then plant it in Brand-Shei's pocket. Brand-Shei is a dark elf, and has a stand nearby Madesi's."

I quirk my eyebrow at him. "Why? Why frame Brand-Shei?"

He smirks at me. "You're an innocent one. Good." He runs his hand through his greasy, red hair and shrugs once. "We've been contacted because Brand-Shei owes something to someone. Something that he doesn't have the coin to replace. So, we've been asked to send a message. Bein' as we aren't the Dark Brotherhood, there'll be no killin'. Just a few days in a jail cell is what we're shootin' for."

"And what makes you think I can do this?" I inquire. "I'm no thief. And if the dunmer are as clever as I've heard, there's no way I'll be able to pull this on him.

He leans across the table and looks me square in the eye. "Did you have to pay the visitor's fee?"

I blink at him and shake my head once. How does he know about that?

He shrugs. "Then you'll be fine. Brand-Shei's a drunk - he's drunk literally all the time. You'll have nothin' to worry about lass. So what do you say? Are you in?"

I look away from him for a moment. If I get involved in this, I've got a sick feeling that I'll never be able to move past it. Thievery isn't how I was raised, but then again, I wasn't raised as a murderer either. Seems I've already gotten that one out of the way...what's one more step in the wrong direction?

I look at him and nod as confidently as I can manage. "I'll do it."

He claps his hands together and nods once. "Ah, wonderful. I'll be in the square tomorrow all day, from eight in the mornin' until eight in the evenin'. We can speak more then. Come and find me."

He stands, and I stand along with him. My palms are sweating. I'm already nervous, and I haven't even done anything yet. "Wait, what's your name?"

He looks at me confidently and smiles. "Brynjolf." He then nods his goodbye and crosses the inn towards the entrance, and disappears outside into the dimming square.


	3. Chapter 2

_People are yelling. Two people. A man and a woman. Their voices are familiar. Who are they? Why are they yelling? Stop. Stop yelling! It's hurting my ears. The woman is crying. The man hit her. She's holding the left side of her face and sitting on the floor, screaming at him. The man turns to me. Let go of my arm. Don't look at me like that. Why are you drawing your dagger? I don't understand. He cut me. My hand is bleeding, but he's looking at the woman on the floor. I glare at him. Then, an explosion. Fire, everywhere. It's warm and welcoming and beautiful. When it's cool again, the man is gone. It smells awful now, but he's gone. The woman is whimpering in the corner. I look down at my hands and they're coated in blood. The blood isn't mine._

I awaken the next morning to the smell of sweet rolls being baked below. The aroma draws me out of bed, but it takes everything in my power to actually wake up. That was the first full night's sleep I've had in three days. But that dream…it wont stop haunting me. My body is stiff and my head is heavy, and the sheets are drenched in sweat. I must have slept like a rock, or maybe I just drank a little too much mead. I find my robe and hood and pull them on, then retrieve my knapsack from the corner and head downstairs. The female Argonian offers me some breakfast. I politely decline, saying that I have things to take care of.

As I step outside, I look up at the sky, and realize thatI don't know what time it is. Father told me once that if you're looking up to the sky, a thumb's length counts for an hour. Follow the sun with your thumb, and you'll be able to tell what time it is. I climb the stairs to the top of the inn and stand on the balcony. From the horizon to the sun is nine thumb lengths meaning it's nine in the morning. Damn. I must have slept almost twelve hours. No wonder I'm sore. I turn my head and catch sight of the market. I see the smithy, the general goods store, the butcher, and Brynjolf.

He's standing tall. Confidently, with shoulders back and a lazy, arrogant smile on his face. You wouldn't be able to tell he's a thief unless you talked to him. He's buying a loaf of bread, paying for it honestly. How odd. He's a thief, why wouldn't he just steal it? I keep my eyes on him and study his movements. He looks off to the side and bends down, beckoning the shopkeeper to join him. He seems to be looking for something. Then he stands back up before the shopkeeper does, and swipes his septims back off of the stand before anyone sees. He then converses with the shopkeep a bit more, and goes on his merry way. What a sneak. I smirk to myself and head back down the stairs, starting in the direction of the market.

It's a lot busier once you're actually in the square. People are brushing past me, running into me, laughing and drinking already, so early in the day. I look for Brynjolf, but I can't see him. I can't see anything with all these people everywhere. Another person knocks into me, then swears at me for running into him. I turn and glare at him. What an ass. I didn't do a damn thing; I was standing here the entire time! It's not my fault if some drunk decides to just wander around and ram into people. I ought to teach him a lesson. I feel my hands warm. I feel the sun on my face, the heat coursing through my body. I feel the flicker of flame in my palm and I turn to the man, ready to set him aflame. That will teach him.

Someone catches my arm. I get pulled off to the side and I stumble a bit, forgetting about my anger just long enough to stand up straight. I look around at the person who grabbed me. It's Brynjolf.

"I'm glad you're here, lass. Are you ready?"

I look around again for the man who bumped into me, then shake my head. It doesn't matter. He'll get what's coming to him.

"Are you alright?"

I turn to look at Brynjolf and he's staring me down. He's got an expression of stern caution and wariness, but also a bit of concern. He releases my arm and I nod. He then nods and pulls me further away from the crowd. We're standing behind a fruit stand and he holds onto my shoulders, centering me.

"Alright. There's Madesi's stand right over there. You're gonna need to pick the lock to get into the lockbox."

I widen my eyes at him. "What? I…I don't know the first thing about lockpicking! I don't even have a lockpick." I feel my palms start to sweat.

He smirks at me and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lockpick. "You've got a knife, right?"

I nod at him and he looks around for a second. We bend behind the fruit stand and I spot a lockbox behind a crate of fruit. He pulls it out and motions for me to try to pick the lock. I look at him, dumbfounded.

He laughs at me. "Here, let me show you."

He puts the lockpick in my right hand and the knife in my left. He takes hold of my hands and goes through the motions of picking the lock. Insert the lockpick, find the right angle and then insert the knife, then give the lock a little jiggle. If it goes, you're in the right spot. If not, adjust the lockpick. After a minute or two, he releases my hands and I'm doing it myself. Then, the lock opens and I'm in. I open the lockbox and spot a few septims, a chunk of silver ore and a small, shiny, amethyst stone. Brynjolf motions for me to take what I want, and I take the septims out of the box, then shut and lock it again.

"Well done, lass. You're going to do fine. Are you ready?" he asks me as we stand back up.

I smooth out my robes. "I…Yes. Yes, I'm ready."

He pats me on the shoulder and moves into the middle of the square. I circle the outside of the square and eye up Madesi's stand. I see the lockbox. I swallow back my fear and grip and lockpick tight in my hand. As promised, Brynjolf's voice booms through the square. He's only talking to a few people, but he's making sure that his voice is heard throughout the crowd.

"Did you hear about that business that happened in the Jarl's palace a few days ago? Seems someone tried to start a fire. Burnt down the drapes and everything!"

And, just like wildfire, the rumor spreads through the crowd and they flock towards Brynjolf and his lie. I smirk at him and crouch down, careful to make as little noise as possible and I near Madesi's stand. I look around a few times to make sure nobody's looking, then start trying to pick the lock. I jiggle the lock once. Nothing. I move the lockpick to another angle and try again. Still nothing. I move the lockpick again and push a little harder with the knife, trying to force the lockbox open.

The lockpick breaks with an audible snap. Part of it is still wedged into the lock, and the other part goes flying, hitting Madesi in the shoulder. Before I can move, think, or speak he whips around and looks right at me. I draw my hands back immediately and stand, looking around desperately. _Oh shit_.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing over there?" His raspy Argonian voice is louder than Brynjolf's and people start to turn to me, brows raised and expressions angry once they realize what I have done.

Oh Gods, no. A crowd. P-People are looking at me angrily. Someone drew a sword. Madesi is starting towards me, shouting at me, threatening to call the guards. Keep control, Melara. Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Close your eyes and breathe.

"I-I didn't mean any harm…" My voice is small and timid.

"Now folks, don't worry about this here mess. I'll take care of it. Madesi, I'm so sorry. I'll take her to the guards immediately."

Brynjolf dispels the tension and takes me roughly by the arm, pulling me out of the square and into a dark alley. I can feel the crowds' gaze on me as we move. I can't breathe. Brynjolf shoves me against a wall and then turns, running a hand quickly through his hair. He's upset. Is he going to hurt me?

"I'm sorry, Brynjolf, I tried…"

He shakes his head. "You almost exposed us, lass! People in this town are gettin' real lax about the Thieves Guild and your little display there almost ruined that for us. What were you thinkin'?"

I look away from him and try to breathe evenly. I close my eyes. I can't lose it. Not with him. Not here, where there's so many people. I can't. I can't. I _won't._ Breathe, Melara. He's just chastising you. Don't use your magic. Don't lose control. Not here, not now.

"Hey lass…are you alright?"

I don't answer him. I can't open my eyes. I can't open my mouth. I can't. Not yet. My body's not ready. I have to calm down.

"Hey there lass, relax. It's gonna be alright."

I feel his hand close around one of my shoulders, and I open my eyes and look down at my hands. My fists are clenched and engulfed in flame. Brynjolf has pushed me against the wall and is looking into my eyes, searching them, with one hand on a dagger at his hip. He looks concerned, alert, and ready to intervene if I were to try something. I don't know if he's looking to check if I'm alright, or ensuring I don't burn anyone to death. I look away from him and put my hands down, diminishing my magic. I just need to relax. I inhale twice, three times through my nose and let it out slowly. Brynjolf tilts his head to one side and looks at me with a wary expression. I shake my head at him, hoping to dismiss the matter and dissuade him from asking me more about it.

He backs away from me and runs a hand through his hair again. "I guess I expected too much from you. Far too much, so it seems."

I look down, a bit shamed by his words. I did the best I could. I don't know anything about thievery or lockpicking or pickpocketing. What in Oblivion else did he expect?

He turns back towards me, scratching his chin. "But I still think you have the spark that I'm lookin' for. You've got a lot of enthusiasm and spunk."

I tilt my head at him. "I don't know about this, Brynjolf. I…I don't have anything planned out or anything and I…I'm really unsure about where to go…I just ran away from my home over in Ivarstead and I don't know anyone or anything or…"

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Alright lass, here's my offer. My organization makes its home in the Ratway under the city. It's a series of tunnels and sewage pipes that lead to a little tavern called the Ragged Flaggon. You think on it, and meet me there if you wanna take things a step further. We can talk more about your future."


End file.
